


Anything You Ask Me To

by magenta



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Glam Rock RPF
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Dom/sub, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magenta/pseuds/magenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy is a shy, struggling musician who's given up on his dreams and himself. Adam is a lawyer who's living a careful, measured life because he's afraid of the messy parts. Can they figure it out, together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything You Ask Me To

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU based on the movie Secretary, written for the Lambliff Big Bang.
> 
> Thanks as always to my wonderful beta janescott!

Tommy sauntered slowly through the office, his hips swaying as he walked. He smirked a little as he felt the pencil skirt clinging tight to his slim hips, the glossy black pumps on his feet lengthening his legs, but no longer making him stumble like they had in the beginning. He bent down smoothly, grabbing a folder off his desk with one hand, the cuff around his wrist jingling as he straightened. He rolled his shoulders, sighing softly when he felt the slight ache there. When he'd first seen the restraint, he hadn't been sure, but that had changed as soon as the collar was fastened around his neck. Now, when he lifted his hands to allow the bars to be attached between his wrists and his neck, it was like releasing a sigh, like a weight was lifting off his chest every time.

He walked with his head held high, folder in one hand, coffee cup in the other, pausing briefly when he passed the mirror in the hallway. His eyes were rimmed in black, liner smudged until his eyes looked huge and dark. His lips were smooth and glossy, and he pouted at his reflection before continuing, putting an extra sway in his hips as he nudged the door to the office open with his foot. He stood silently in the doorway until Adam looked up and noticed him, motioning him forward with a small smile and a crook of the finger. Tommy walked slowly, letting Adam see the way the skirt clung to him, the way his muscles flexed from the shoes, bending when he got to the desk to set down first the coffee and then the folder. He locked eyes with Adam and waited, watching as Adam's lips parted slightly, his tongue darting out to moisten them.

Then Adam was standing, pulling a small key from his jacket pocket and freeing Tommy's hands, his own fingers just barely skating over Tommy's slim hips and down over his ass. His breath was hot against Tommy's ear, and Tommy didn't try to stop the shiver that ran through him when Adam spoke. “Bend over, and place your palms flat on the desk.” Tommy obeyed, spreading his legs enough that he was steady in the heels and arching his back, knowing exactly what he looked like. The thick silver ring around his ring finger glinted in the dim light of the room, and Adam barely ghosted his fingers over the cool metal before sliding his hands down Tommy's sides. Adam's hands were hot as they worked the tight skirt up over Tommy's hips, and the gentle way he feathered his fingers over Tommy's smooth skin was the same now as it had always been. Later, when Tommy was straightening his skirt, tugging it down over sticky skin, those gentle fingers would stroke down his cheek, endearments whispered in his ear as Adam turned the key in the restraints.

“Thank you, Tommy. That will be all.” Adam's cheeks were always flushed afterwards, his hair a little ruffled, but Tommy would never mention it. He just sauntered slowly from the room, feeling right and strong and _loved_.

 **Six Months Earlier**

Adam heard the front door slam, and moments later a small voice called out from the hallway.

“Hello?” The voice was unsure, nervous, and Adam straightened up, fixing his tie and smoothing a hand over his hair. He shifted a few pens around on his desk before folding his hands and calling out into the hallway.

“In here.” Adam watched as his office door swung in, and took in the man that stepped through it. He was wet, dripping from the rain that was falling heavily outside, and it was making his hair stick flat to his head. From what Adam could tell, his hair was blonde, probably artificially so, and untidy bangs hung in the man's eyes. He was wearing a suit jacket that appeared to belong to someone much taller, and yet somehow his pants stopped a fair bit before his shoes started. In his hands he clutched a piece of paper, crumpled and damp, and he shuffled his feet, nervously pushing his hair from his face before pulling it back. On the surface, there was nothing special about the man, but something about him intrigued Adam, made him look again. There was a delicateness to his features, something that could be called pretty if he put some work into it, and there was something in his eyes, a quiet strength or maybe determination that Adam wanted to dig out.

“Are you the lawyer?” The man's voice was uneven, but he spoke loudly and with a confidence that Adam was sure was mostly being faked.

“Yes.” Adam answered simply, gesturing for the man the step into the room. He strode in with long steps, probably intending on looking sure of himself, but mostly succeeding in looking awkward. He thrust the crumpled piece of paper forward, a few drops of water dripping down onto Adam's desk. Adam followed the water with his eyes, and then looked up at the man's face, silently.

“The sign, it said 'secretary wanted'.” The man stumbled over his words, but stood his ground, and Adam crossed his arms in front of him.

“Yes, that's right.” Adam sat back in his chair and took in the man in front of him once more, watching the way he shifted under Adam's gaze. “Are you single?”

The man looked surprised for a moment, but shook his head. “Um, yes? Yeah, I am.”

“Do you live with your parents?”

“No, not anymore.”

“Do you live alone?”

“I live with friends, in a house. I just moved.”

Adam looked at the piece of paper in the man's hand, raising his eyebrows. “Is that your resume?”

“Um...well, sir, I've never really had a job before. This...these are my typing scores?” The man put the paper down on Adam's desk, flattening it with his hands before pushing it towards him.

“Tommy. Tommy Ratliff.” Adam tasted the name in his mouth, looking up at the man it belonged to and feeling like it fit. “Get me a cup of coffee, Tommy.”

Tommy's mouth opened in a little 'O', but he shook his head quickly, nodding. “Yes, yes sir.” Adam watched as Tommy hurried out of the room, tenting his fingers in front of him. He was very interested in this Tommy, maybe too interested. It took far longer than it should have for Tommy to return with a cup of coffee, but judging by the large water stain on the front of his shirt, and the clattering Adam had heard coming from the kitchenette, it hadn't been a simple task. Adam took the coffee from Tommy and set it aside without taking a sip, just to see Tommy's reaction, and then he sat forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the desk.

“Why do you want to be a secretary, Tommy? It's really quite boring.”

“I like boring, sir. I need to be bored.” Tommy was picking at his fingernails and crossing and uncrossing his ankles in a way that was very distracting. That would have to stop.

Adam pressed forward, each question a kind of test. “I really only need a typist. Someone to make copies, mail letters. Very dull work.”

Tommy leaned forward, finally meeting Adam's eyes with the kind of quiet strength Adam had been looking for. “I love dull work.”

Adam stared at Tommy in silence for a few longs moments, impressed that Tommy managed to hold his gaze the entire time. “There's something about you, something special. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn't.” Tommy's answer was honest and free of guile, and Adam appreciated that more than anything. He nodded at Tommy's response, and handed him back his typing scores.

“Come in tomorrow, 9am. And find some clothes that fit you better, these are unacceptable.” Adam looked down at his desk, shuffling a stack of papers and watching through his lashes as Tommy blinked at him before finally turning and leaving his office. He paused at the door, looking back to Adam, then pulled the door shut behind him. When Adam heard the front door slam, he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the cup full of red Sharpies that sat on the corner of his desk and felt his heart race. He grabbed the cup and dumped it into the deep bottom drawer of his desk, sliding it shut with an audible _thunk_. He rubbed his hands over his face and leaned heavily on his elbows. He was definitely too interested.

The next morning at exactly five minutes to 9, Adam heard the door open and shut, listening to the soft footfalls of Tommy's feet on the carpet in the hallway, and then a hesitant knock on his office door.

“Come in.” Adam sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and folding his hands in his lap. He smiled when Tommy stepped into the room, his heart thumping a little when he took in Tommy's appearance. It was still obvious that this was a man who was not used to dressing professionally, but today he almost looked the part. The suit jacket fit his slim build, and the pants reached the floor. The shirt underneath was more than a little rumpled, and Adam suspected that if he opened Tommy jacket it might be buttoned wrong, but overall, he was pleased. He told Tommy so, and was even more pleased at the gentle flush he saw spread across Tommy's cheeks before he dropped his head.

“Thank you, sir.” Tommy did a lot to ruin the look by shoving his hands in his pockets, but Adam resisted the urge to correct him.

“You don't have to call me 'sir', Tommy. For now, call me Mr. Lambert.” Adam leaned forward and grabbed a stack of folders off his desk, holding them out until Tommy got the hint and stepped forward to take them. “I need you to type letters to each of those clients. All the information you need is inside each file, and there's a folder of form letters for you to follow. Your desk is in the front hall. I'll call you on the intercom if I need you. Thank you, Tommy.” There was a brief, awkward moment when Tommy seemed rooted to the spot, the files dangling in the air, but then he stepped forward, his hand shaking only a little as he took the files, clutching them to his chest before leaving the room. Adam sat quietly, listening to the drag of Tommy's chair across the floor, and then the tell-tale noises of the typewriter as Tommy figured out how to work the antiquated technology. As the clicks and swishes filtered into Adam's office, he was reminded of why he insisted on typewriters. The methodical sound was calming, and as Tommy's typing became more regular, so did Adam's breathing.

The days turned into weeks, and a comfortable rhythm settled over the office. Adam assigned a series of menial tasks to Tommy, just waiting for the one that would push him to the edge and realize he was too good for this job, but it never came. Tommy learned how to make Adam's coffee exactly the way he liked it, half a sugar cube and barely a splash of milk, and most mornings a steaming cup was waiting for Adam on his desk when he arrived. He could hand Tommy a stack of hundreds of files, a jumbled disaster, and Tommy would plunk down on the floor silently, lay the files out in front of him and arrange them, even improving upon the system Adam had used for years. Better yet, when he was done, he would bring the files into Adam's office and ask if there were more that needed organizing, all without a sneer or a complaint. Adam's lips wanted to curve into a smile, and he wanted to tell Tommy how good he was, but instead he pointed towards a pile of books on the floor in the corner.

“Those books need to be put away, in alphabetical order. There's a step stool if you can't reach.” Adam watched over the notes he was pretending to read as Tommy struggled to carry more books than his small frame would allow, and fought the urge to leap up and help him carry them. Tommy climbed up onto the step stool, but even with its help he still had to reach above his head to get the books to the top shelf. His shirt slipped out of his waistband, and Adam's mouth went a little dry when he saw the strip of pale skin that was exposed. He watched the slim line of Tommy's body as it stretched out, standing on tip toes and fingers reaching as high as they could go. Adam's breath caught when his eyes made it to Tommy's arms, where the cuffs of his shirt had slipped down past his wrists. On one wrist, Adam was surprised to see red and black swirls, some kind of tattoo he couldn't recognize from this small glimpse, but it was what he saw on the other wrist that, in the future, would probably be called a turning point.

Adam could only see about three inches of Tommy's skin, but that was enough. There were scars, some thin and white and old, and some fresh, angry red and raised. There were even a few little band-aids in a straight line down the back of Tommy's forearm, and in the gaps between them Adam could see the cuts they were attempting to conceal. He must have made a soft noise, because Tommy dropped the book he'd been holding and turned, the look on his face akin to that of a spooked rabbit, all wide eyes and terror. Adam started to stand, a hand out to reassure Tommy when the phone broke the silence. Tommy looked hugely grateful as he darted out of the room, and Adam swore softly under his breath as he crept quietly to the door where he could watch Tommy.

“You have reached the office of Mr. Adam Lambert, how can I help you?” Tommy sounded out of breath and nervous, and Adam's fingers clenched tighter on the door jam.

“No, we're very happy with our long distance, thank you.” The door to the office swung open, and Adam watched as Tommy's eyes swept from the phone to the door, a hand raising to cover the mouthpiece. “If you'll have a seat, I'll be right with you.”

“Is he here? I need to talk to him, now.” Adam recognized that voice, high and light and sweet when he wanted it to be, but not now. Adam had no idea why the man was already on edge like this, but he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of it, and it didn't feel good.

“I'm sorry, sir. Just one moment and I'll – no, thank you, that is a very good offer but I don't think -”

“I'm going back now.” The man's voice was creeping up, getting louder, and Adam didn't need to see him to know the way he was posturing.

“No, please, just one minute!” Tommy's voice was near frantic, and Adam once again fought the urge to go rescue him. He wanted to see how Tommy would handle this.

The man scoffed, and Adam could see in his head the way one hip was cocked, a hand resting on it. “Submissive. He'll like you.”

“Excuse me?” Adam heard Tommy hang up the phone, the long-distance provider forgotten.

“I said, 'submissive'. It's not an insult honey, just an observation. Now, are you going to tell him I'm here, or should I just go barge in there?” Adam hurried to his desk at those words, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. As if on cue, his intercom buzzed.

“There's a Bradley Bell here to see you. Should I send him in?” Tommy was trying to control his voice, but Adam could hear the slight shake.

“Yes, send him in. Thank you, Tommy.” Adam sat back in his chair and and steeled himself for the hurricane that was about to burst through his door, surprised when Brad sauntered in quietly and sat down, a slightly confused look on his face.

“That secretary you've got there...he's something, isn't he?” If Adam didn't know Brad as well as he did, he would've sworn there was a note of jealousy to his tone. Adam chose to ignore it, smiling easily and honestly.

“He's very good.” Adam tried not to sound too wistful when he spoke, and he ignored the withering look Brad gave him when he apparently failed at that. “So, you needed to see me now, huh?” Brad rolled his eyes, but he moved on from talking about Tommy, and pulled a thick contract out of his bag.

“I need you to look this over, tell me if the producers are going to screw me. It's the best offer I've ever had, so...tell me if it's bullshit, okay?” Brad was confident on the outside, sometimes arrogant, but underneath he was this; determined, but a little nervous from one too many big chances gone wrong.

“Of course, that's what friends who are lawyers are for. I'll call you when I've had a look at it.” Adam stood and gave Brad a quick kiss on the cheek, and watched as he walked down the hall and out the door. He could hear the quick exhale that came from Tommy the instant the door was shut, and Adam wondered briefly if Tommy had been holding his breath the entire time. Adam shook his head and flipped through the contract, his eyes catching on certain words as he made notes. It was long and involved, and Adam was glad to spend the rest of the afternoon lost in the complexities of legal jargon instead of flicking back to the scared look on Tommy's face and the long-buried feelings it brought up.

The end of the day came sooner than he thought it would, and he shoved the contract in his briefcase to take home. On his way out, he stopped at Tommy's desk, giving him a thin smile. “Good work today.”

Tommy smiled back, but it was weak. “Thanks.” He reached up to push his hair behind his ear, but quickly dropped his hand back to his lap. Not quick enough, however for Adam to miss the still spreading red stain on the cuff of his shirt. None of the cuts that Adam had seen earlier that day were fresh enough to bleed like that, and in that moment something in Adam snapped.

“See you in the morning, Mr. Ratliff.” He turned and walked sharply out of the building, the chill in the air doing nothing to cool his heated skin. When he got to his car, Adam sat down heavily in the driver’s seat, reaching into his briefcase. He pulled out a red Sharpie, rolling it between his fingers for a few long moments. In his rear-view mirror he watched as Tommy left the building, locking the door behind him and slipping into his old, battered car. Adam slid the Sharpie into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, the marker feeling like a ten pound weight, his heart pounding against it. He couldn't believe he was doing this again, but it felt like the decision had been made, and it wasn't up to him to say no.

***

Tommy's hands were shaking as he pushed open the door to the office the next morning, and he found himself tugging his sleeves down again and again, fingers brushing over the bandage on his wrist. He felt stupid and weak, and he couldn't believe he'd let himself get caught. He'd been doing it for almost longer than he could remember, the little black fabric bag with band-aids and tiny scissors and alcohol swabs something he grabbed and threw into his bag every day, like it was his wallet. And now, here he was, his first actual paying job in so long he'd had to borrow his roommates clothes for the interview, and he'd fucked it up. His fingers drummed against the desk, playing a bass line to a song he couldn't name, but that floated around in the back of his head whenever he was nervous. He chewed on his lower lip and rifled through the files on his desk, organizing and re-organizing until he heard the bell above the door jingle.

Adam walked in briskly, and for a brief moment Tommy thought he looked as nervous as Tommy felt. But then Tommy blinked, and when he looked again Adam was his usual self, put together and poised. Tommy's breath always caught in his throat a little when he looked at Adam, torn between wanting him and wishing he could be him. Adam was tall with broad shoulders and long legs, and his suits were obviously expensive; Tommy could tell by the way they fit him, slim but never too tight, and never falling off his shoulders like Tommy's jackets so often did. Adam ran a hand over his slick, black hair, but it was already perfect, and Tommy nervously reached up to tuck a chunk of his own straggly blond hair behind his ear. Tommy's eyes caught on the heavy rings on Adam's fingers, the silver metal and gleaming stones catching the light, and Tommy wondered if he'd ever seen Adam wear those before.

“Good morning, Mr. Ratliff.” Adam's voice was light, but Tommy could see something in his eyes that Adam was trying to hide. Tommy figured it was pity, which was what people always felt when they saw his scars and bandages.

“Morning.” He hated pity more than anything else, and he dropped his eyes to the files on his desk, chewing harder on his lip until the coppery taste of blood crept into his mouth. He felt Adam watching him for a few long moments, his cheeks flushing and he was still fighting the urge to bolt out the door when he heard the door to Adam's office shut and realized he was gone. He ran his tongue over lips, cringing at the taste of blood and opened the first file, sliding a clean sheet of paper into the typewriter. In seconds, the rhythmic sound of the typewriter filled the room, reminding him so much of music. He could breath easier with the rhythm in his ears, his fingers sliding over the keys like they used to over the frets of his guitar.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been working when the intercom on his desk buzzed, Adam's voice startling him. “Can I see you in my office? Please?” The last word was added almost as an afterthought, the pause before it weighted.

Tommy pushed the button, clearing his throat before responding. “I'll be right in.” The walk down the hall felt impossibly long until it didn't, and Adam's door was right in front of him. Tommy took a deep breath and pushed it open, closing it softly behind him and waiting. Adam crooked a finger at him, and Tommy moved forward like he was being pulled. He stopped at the edge of Adam's desk, and tried to decide what to do with his hands, stuffing them in his pockets then crossing them over his chest then dropping them to hang by his sides, the fingers of one hand drumming against his thigh.

Adam slid a piece of paper across the desk, and Tommy glanced down to it. He recognized it as a letter he'd typed a few days before, but now there were red marks on it, circling some of the words. Adam's voice was quiet when he spoke, but there was an edge to it that made Tommy shiver. “Look at it.”

Tommy looked, his brain screaming at him to focus. “Um...what?”

“Look at it. Do you see?” Adam jabbed at the letter with a finger, pointing at each one of the circled words in turn. “This letter has three typing errors, and I think this one is a spelling error.”

“I'm...sorry?” Tommy didn't know what to do, he shifted from foot to foot and pulled his lower lip into his mouth, pulling at the bits of loose skin with his teeth.

“This isn't the first time. I've let other go because you were new, but this has to stop. Do you know how this makes me look to clients?” Adam's voice was still careful, quiet, but somehow that made it much worse. Tommy would rather be screamed at, that he would know how to react to.

 

“I'm sorry, sir. I'm -” Tommy stopped instantly when Adam lifted his hand, pressing his lips together.

“Type it again, and do it right.” Adam lifted the letter off the desk and held it out with two fingers, and if there was something wrong with it.

Tommy took it and carried it back to his desk, spreading it out and looking it over until he thought he could type it in his sleep. He typed slow and careful, his eyes flicking from the keys to the paper and back again, making sure that every word was perfect. His teeth dug into his lower lip until it was puffy and raw, and just the gentle swipe of his tongue over the skin made him breathe in sharply. He pulled the letter out of the typewriter and read it over once, twice, enough times that his eyes were starting to blur and he headed back to Adam's office. The door was open, and he stepped in with a soft knock against the jam. Adam gestured for him to move forward, and Tommy slid the letter onto the desk, waiting.

“Could you go pick up my lunch? The usual, but with an extra pickle this time.” Adam didn't even look at him as he spoke, just kept flipping through a book.

“Um...aren't you going to proofread the letter?” Tommy's fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to push the letter closer to Adam.

“I'm sure it's fine.” He flipped a page in his book, the noise it made sounding incredibly loud in the still air of the room.

Tommy bent to pick up the empty coffee cup on Adam's desk, and just as he was about to turn to walk out of the room, Adam flicked his gaze up. Tommy could feel Adam's eyes on his lips, knew how ruined they looked without having to look in a mirror himself. Out of habit, he pulled his lip into his mouth, intending to hide it.

“When people come into my office, you are the first person they see, isn't that right?” Tommy nodded, and waited for Adam to continue. “What must it look like to see you sitting there with torn and bloody lips? It's disgusting, and you need to stop.”

“I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize...” Tommy resisted the urge to wipe the back of his hand over his lips, his fingers clenching tighter on the coffee cup in his hand.

“And another thing. The drumming, with your fingers. I can hear it in my office.” Adam leaned back, pausing, and Tommy responded before he could stop himself.

“I'm sorry, I'm a – I used to be a musician.” Tommy dropped his gaze to the floor, the admission of his failure hard to stomach, even now.

He could feel Adam's gaze burning through him, but when he looked up it wasn't anger he saw on Adam's face. It was interest, or curiosity maybe. And maybe Tommy was imagining it, but he thought he saw a sparkle in Adam's eyes and a twitch to his lips. “A musician. Well, get yourself some lip balm when you pick up lunch, and stop chewing on your lips.”

A few days went by, and gradually, Tommy relaxed. He carried a tube of lip balm around, one that he hated the taste of, and put it on every time he felt like pulling his lip into his mouth, doubling up whenever he had to go into Adam's office. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like the way his lips felt sliding together with the slick balm on them, especially now that they were smooth, no torn bits of skin. Every time he pulled the tube out, he thought of Adam, how Adam had told him to do this, and he let his lips curve into a little smile. Just touching the tube calmed him, brought his down, and he tried not to think too hard about what that might mean.

As usual, he startled when his intercom buzzed, the sharp crackling noise breaking through the haze he often fell into when typing. “Mr. Ratliff, come into the study.”

Tommy responded quickly, maybe a little too quickly when he heard how breathless he sounded. “Okay.” He pulled out his lip balm and put it on thickly, rubbing his lips together until it was smooth and even. He slipped the tube into his pocket and patted the lump it made, keeping his hand there as he walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing in his own ears. He didn't know what was waiting for him in the study, but he took a deep breath and pushed open the door, pulling his hand away from the tube in his pocket at the last minute.

Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't what he found. Adam was sitting on the sofa in the study, one of his legs curled underneath him, a smile spread across his face. He patted the cushion next to him, and Tommy only hesitated for a moment before moving. The sofa was soft and high, and Tommy sunk deep enough into it that his feet could only brush the floor. He felt his cheeks flush as he shifted, scooting forward until he could plant his feet, leaning back awkwardly against the arm rest.

“You're shy, aren't you, Tommy?” Adam's voice was soft, but not the scary kind of soft Tommy had heard before.

Tommy shrugged, looking up at Adam through his messy fall of blonde hair. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I used to be shy.” Adam must have seen the disbelief on Tommy's face, because he held up his hands, his smile softening just a touch. “I did, really. But I had to overcome my shyness if I wanted to get anywhere in life.”

Tommy nodded, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Well, I don't think you're shy.”

Adam's gaze darted away from Tommy for a moment, and when he spoke next his voice sounded far away. “I know I'm your boss, and this is probably outside the bounds of whatever our relationship is supposed to be...but I want you to feel free to talk to me, about anything.”

A pregnant pause filled the small room, and Tommy's heart dropped to his stomach when Adam continued. “The band-aids on your wrist. What's going on there?”

Tommy dropped his eyes to his lap, digging his fingers into the material of his pants and focusing on not chewing on his lip. He saw Adam's hand moving towards his, and he was surprised when he felt how soft it was resting against his. “Why do you cut yourself, Tommy?”

“I don't know.” Tommy shrugged and let Adam enfold one of his hands entirely in his own. “I've been doing it a long time.”

Adam nodded like that was an answer and stroked his fingers over the back of Tommy's hand. “Sometimes things just build up so much inside of you, nerves, fears, or stress and you feel like you might explode. The blood, it's like everything rushing free all at once, clearing out everything that's backing up inside, giving you a chance to start fresh, until the next time.”

Tommy looked up, his mouth hanging open just a little as he caught eyes with Adam. “I – yeah, that's part of it.”

“I'm going to tell you something, Tommy. Are you ready to listen?” Adam waited for Tommy to nod before continuing. “You will never, ever cut yourself again. Do you understand?”

Tommy hesitated for a moment and then nodded, feeling a sudden rush of something he couldn't describe.

“You don't need that anymore, it's all in the past. Right?” Tommy nodded again, and Adam squeezed his hand, gentle and reassuring, not letting go.

“Good. Can I ask you just one more question?” Adam's voice shifted from the soft, gentle tone to a more conversational tone, and Tommy was glad for the change.

“Yeah, of course.” Tommy shifted to turn his body more towards Adam, looking at him straight on for the first time since walking into the study.

“You told me you used to be a musician. What happened?”

Tommy shrugged, running his tongue over his lips and cringing at the taste of the balm. “The same thing that happens to everyone in LA. I moved here with a guitar, and eventually I had to choose between the guitar and food and a place to live. I chose food.”

Adam squeezed Tommy's hand again, a little harder this time. “You know, I used to be a singer. Before I was this.” He gestured with his free hand, those rings that Tommy thought were new glinting in the dim light of the room.

“Why did you stop?” Tommy could tell that Adam was remembering, the far away look in his eyes fascinating.

“It wasn't practical anymore. My parents pushed for me to go to law school for years, and after living without electricity and making just enough money to pay for the cab home...I took their advice.” Adam's face was soft, the angles that Tommy was used to blurring into curves that made Tommy's fingers itch to reach out and touch.

Tommy lowered his voice, sensing that Adam felt about his failed music career the same way Tommy did about his. “Were you good?”

“I thought so, but it doesn't always matter.” Adam pulled his hand away from Tommy's, folding them carefully in his lap and rearranging his face into what Tommy now realized was a mask of control. “You know what I want you to do, Tommy? I want you to go home early, and spend the afternoon doing something you love, anything. You deserve to relax. Will you do that for me, Tommy?”

Somehow, Tommy knew that wasn't really a question, but he wouldn't have said no even if it was. He took the long way home, driving down quiet, deserted streets, enjoying the quietness inside his own head even more. The second that Adam told him that he wasn't going to cut himself anymore it was like a wet, woollen blanket had been lifted off of him. He had tried to stop so many times over the years, but this time, because Adam has insisted he do it, everything was different. He could breathe easier, think clearer, and he arrived at the office early the next morning to leave a cup of coffee on Adam's desk, the little black bag Tommy had carried with him for so long resting against it. Tommy wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was more than a promise, because promises can be broken.

Tommy's good mood was shattered when Adam stormed out of his office, stalking towards Tommy's desk with a look in his eyes that made Tommy shrink back. The sound of Adam's hand slapping against Tommy's desk rang through the small room, and Tommy actually jumped, his eyes shooting up to Adam's face and then flicking away to anywhere but.

“All that you have to do is type, and answer the phones. Is that too much?” There was a hard, sharp edge to Adam's voice, and Tommy swore he could feel it against his skin. Adam's finger jabbed against the piece of paper he'd slammed on Tommy's desk, and the red Sharpie stood out against the white paper like an accusation.

“I'm sorry.”

“It seems like it might be too much.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize to me. Come into my office, and bring the letter.” Adam turned on his heel and walked swiftly down the hall. Tommy waited for the slamming of the door, but it never came. His legs shook as he stood, and the letter crumpled around the edges where he clutched it tightly in his fingers. When he got to Adam's office, Adam was sitting stock-still in his chair, fingers tented in front of him. “Shut the door, and put the letter on my desk.”

Tommy set the letter down and waited the next instruction coming quickly. “I want you to bend over the desk, and put your face very close to the letter.”

“What? I don't...” Tommy went instantly silent when Adam rose to his feet, his eyes following Adam until he couldn't see him anymore, until Adam was a warm presence at his back.

“Bend over, and put your elbows on the desk. Get your face very close to the letter, and then read it out loud.” Adam spoke slowly, like he was explaining the rules to an exasperating child. Tommy's cheeks coloured as he bent forward, the wood of the desk cool under his palms. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the letter, and in that moment he could feel Adam move even closer, their thighs nearly touching.

Tommy's voice was shaking, and he didn't even try to stop it. He licked his lips in a vain attempt to moisten them, but it felt like his mouth was lined in sandpaper. “Dear Mr Lavalle, the subject of same-sex domestic partnerships...” His breath left him in a sudden huff when he felt Adam's hand come down hard against his ass, the thin fabric of his pants not providing much of a barrier.

“Continue.” Adam's voice was frustratingly level, like he was unaffected by what was going on. “Mr. Ratliff. Read.”

“...the subject of same-sex domestic partnerships is one that I am especially interested in, and I am glad that your case has been referred to me.” Tommy breathed in sharply when the next blow came, harder than the first. He could feel heat already spreading across his ass and down his thighs, but he kept reading.

“My secretary has prepared research material on the issue that I think you will find illuminating.” The blows came faster now, every few words instead of only at the end of sentences. Tommy struggled to keep speaking, a soft moan trying to escape when he opened his mouth to finish the letter.

“Please feel free to contact me when you have read over the information, and we will discuss it at your earliest convenience.” The blows were coming hard enough to rock Tommy forward, his fingers scrabbling against the desk. He knew his voice had gone breathy, but he couldn't help it.

“Yours sincerely, Adam M. Lambert.” The final blows came with every word, and Tommy could barely get a breath between each one. Between his legs his cock was hard and rubbing against the edge of the desk, and he knew when he stood up there'd be a wet spot on the front of his thin wool pants.

As soon as the final blow was landed, a heavy silence fell over the room. Tommy struggled to slow down his breathing, to even it out, because even to his own ears it sounded wanton and needy. Tommy felt hot, like his skin was too tight and he needed out, his legs shaking as he rested heavily against the desk. He started when Adam ran a gentle hand over his ass, making the ache that much more obvious.

“Read it again.” Adam's voice was still level, but Tommy imagined he could hear a slight shake way down, almost not even there.

“What?” Tommy started to turn his head, but then Adam's hand settled firmly into the small of his back, pushing down just slightly and Tommy stopped. He dropped his eyes back to the letter and started reading.

“Dear Mr Lavalle...” The blows came hard and fast this time, so hard that Tommy could barely get the words out. He gasped whenever he could steal a breath, missing words in the letter but it seemed liked Adam wasn't listening anymore. His hand rose and fell so fast Tommy couldn't tell where one blow ended and the next began, and by the time he reached the end of the letter, his ass was burning and tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes. When the blows stopped, one of Adam's hands came to rest next to his on the desk, his fingers nearly touching Tommy's. Tommy lifted his pinkie just slightly, just enough to wrap it lightly around Adam's thumb. Adam's hand pulled away slowly, and Tommy fought the urge to case it with his own. He heard Adam straighten his clothes behind him, and saw out of the corner of his eye when Adam moved around to take his seat at the desk again.

“Go straighten yourself up and re-type the letter.” There was a slight flush spread across Adam's cheeks, and a sheen of sweat that Tommy had never seen before; the first chinks in the perfect armour he'd thought was unbreakable. Tommy stared in silence for a few seconds that felt like hours, and then picked up the letter with shaking hands and walked slowly out of the office.

His ass ached as he walked down the hallway, and he paused at his desk after setting the letter down and turned on his heel to head into the bathroom. He pushed in the little button lock on the door and fumbled with the buckle on his belt until he could push his pants down over his hips. He turned, standing up on his tiptoes until he could just see his ass in the large mirror over the sink. His pale skin was mottled, large marks that were red around the edges, deepening in the centre. Tommy could already imagine how dark purple the marks would turn, and he wondered how long they would last, how long they would hurt. He ran his fingers lightly over the skin feeling the spreading heat and the ache that wasn't quite sharp but wouldn't really be dull for a few days yet. He winced a little when he sat down in his desk chair, but then a little smirk spread across his face as he shifted to get that feeling to last longer.

At the end of the day, Tommy was packing up his things when Adam stuck his head out. “Mr Ratliff, good letter.” He smiled, a small smile but a real one. Tommy smiled back, and walked out of the building with his head held high. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this calm, no hint of panic creeping in around the edges, no building pressure in his belly. If he'd thought that yesterday was the start of something, today he was sure of it.

Things changed in the office in the weeks that followed, and though maybe the relationship was developing between them should've made Tommy uncomfortable, it was exactly the opposite. Tommy felt better than he ever had, he felt happy and he felt whole. He went shopping because he wanted to and not because he felt like he had to, spending all his spare money on slim fitting suits and shiny shoes and shirts with buttons that sparkled. He got his hair done, bleaching the roots that had been growing in since the day that he'd had to sell his guitar, and he stood in front of the mirror in his new clothes with his new hair, and he smiled. He looked good, and he knew Adam would love the way the fabric clung to his frame, the way the subtle makeup he smudged around his eyes made them look saucer-round and dark.

He hurried to the office every morning, wanting to make sure he was there waiting for Adam every day, ready to do whatever was needed of him. Adam brought him along on meetings with clients now, introducing him with a note of pride in his voice that always made Tommy stand straighter, taller.

“Mr. Lavalle, it's nice to see you again.” Adam stuck out his hand, shaking the clients hand firmly before gesturing for Tommy to stand. “This is Tommy Ratliff, my secretary. He's the one that prepared the research material for you.”

Tommy stood, his own handshake strong and firm thanks to lessons from Adam. “It's nice to meet you. I'm sorry about the typo.” Adam's hand was warm where it rested at the base of Tommy's spine, and Tommy pressed back into it just slightly, imagining it lower, and he dropped his head just a little as he felt his cheeks colour. Adam's fingers dug into him, the sudden pressure making Tommy's head snap back up, making eye contact with Mr. Lavalle once more. There was a question on the clients face, but before he had the chance to ask it Adam produced a file, and the discussion shifted to the case. Tommy took neat notes, but mostly he watched the animated way Adam talked when he was passionate about something, different from the carefully controlled man he'd met months ago.

When they got back to the office that afternoon, Adam paused on his way down the hall to his office. “Good job today, Tommy. Very good.”

As good as Tommy was, he wasn't perfect, and typos still slipped through the cracks. When the letters were slapped down in front of him, red marker standing out in sharp relief, Tommy no longer felt fear. His blood instantly ran hot, and he didn't make it to the office before his dick was hard and pressing against the zipper of his suit pants. He bent eagerly over the desk, arching his back just the way Adam liked it, and his voice was steady as he read the letter aloud, driving Adam to break him, to make his voice catch and hitch. The sound of Adam's hand against Tommy's ass was loud, ringing through the office and Tommy knew that even if he was silent, anyone who walked into the building in those moments would hear exactly what was going on. He wasn't quiet though; he moaned eagerly, wiggling his hips as Adam's hand rained down on his ass again and again, wishing that Adam would touch his bare skin, give him more than this, anything.

When it was done, Tommy headed to the small bathroom of the office and locked the door behind him, leaning against the cool tile wall as he shoved his pants down over his hips. His hand wrapped around his dick and stroked hard and fast, his other hand slipping around to his ass to press into the sore skin, the bruises that never really got the chance to fully heal. He always came quickly, after just a few tugs and with Adam's name on his lips, and he was careful to clean up almost all the way, leaving his eyeliner just a little smudged, or his tie a little crooked so Adam would be reminded of what they'd just done when he walked into the room. It worked every time, and Tommy loved to watch the darkness that flashed through Adam's eyes, the way he held his mouth steady for a long moment before he was able to speak.

The first time that Adam called him at home was a watershed moment for Tommy, the phone ringing barely an hour after he walked through the door. He didn't recognize the number, and he was surprised to hear Adam's voice on the other end.

“What are you having for dinner tonight, Tommy?”

“Um...I haven't decided yet. Probably order pizza.” Tommy opened his refrigerator, finding nothing but beer, a crusty bottle of mustard and some leftovers with his roommates name plastered all over the container in threatening letters.

“Let me order you something. When it gets there, call me before you eat anything.” Adam hung up before Tommy could respond, and he spent the next 20 minutes staring at the phone, more than a little confused. He was startled when the doorbell rang, but he thanked the man on the other side and carried the cartons into the kitchen, dialling Adam's number.

“Hi, the food's here.” Tommy started fiddling with the lid of one of the cartons, but didn't open it.

“Good. Open the boxes and tell me what there is.”

Tommy opened the boxes one after another, his stomach growling. He figured Adam already knew what was in the boxes, but he played along. “Um, there's a cheeseburger and french fries, a big salad and a piece of chocolate cake.”

“Cut the cheeseburger into four pieces, and eat one. Eat the entire salad, and a handful of the french fries. You can have the entire piece of cake.” Tommy could hear Adam thinking through the silence on the phone, and he waited quietly. “And tomorrow, I'm going to bring you a grocery list. Have a good night, Tommy.”

“You too. And thanks for dinner.” Tommy hung up the phone, and sat down to dinner. He ate slowly, savouring the food and imagining he was eating it with Adam. He wasn't exactly full when he was done, but as he packed up the leftovers and put them in the fridge, he found wasn't hungry either. It was early, not even fully dark outside, but Tommy walked down the short hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and flicking off the light. The dropping sun was filtering through his threadbare curtains and cast a reddish glow over his rumpled bed, and he pulled his t-shirt up and over his head before climbing on top of the covers. He ran his hands down his bare chest, letting his eyes fall shut and his mind wander. Every image that flashed behind his eyes was related to Adam, and he imagined that he could smell the sharp scent of Adam's Sharpie, and that the hands pinching at his nipples weren't his own.

His dick was already hard by the time his hands reached his waist, his fingers unbuckling his pants quickly. He sighed when his hand finally closed around his dick and he stroked slowly, thrusting his hips up into his hand. The bruised, sensitive skin of his ass rubbed over the comforter, the slight ache sending vivid images through his mind. His hand moved faster on his dick as he thought about Adam spanking him, over the desk like always. He imagined something in Adam's hand, a leather paddle, thought about how different that would feel, harder maybe. The image shifted, and they were both naked, Adam's long, lean body pressed up against Tommy's, the bruises on Tommy's ass standing out dark and purple. Tommy imagined Adam's cock, big and hard and pressing hot against the back of his thigh and then even hotter as it pushed into him, stretching him open and filling him. Tommy shoved two fingers into his mouth and swirled his tongue around them to get them wet, groaning when he slid them down his body and pushed them into his ass. It was too dry and the angle was all wrong, but it was better than nothing and Tommy's breath started coming hard and fast.

The images changed then, and Tommy imagined Adam ordering for him in a fancy restaurant, imagined Adam feeding him mouthfuls of food, imagined cuffs around his wrists keeping him still on the chair. He thought about being spread out on his back, his ankles and wrists cuffed to a bed, totally helpless. Adam loomed above him, fully clothed, a possessive hand running over Tommy's skin. Tommy cried out as his orgasm rushed over him, hot come spilling over his fist and pooling on his belly, dripping down between his legs to run over the fingers he gently slipped out of his ass. He was glad he was home alone, because he was sure he'd screamed Adam's name, and remembered mumbling something about chocolate cake and french fries. He lazily grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the floor and tossed them in the direction of the trashcan, pulling the blankets up and over him, asleep before the sun had fully dipped below the horizon.

“How many inches away was the furnace?” Adam paced the office, the cordless phone clutched in his hand as Tommy's fingers flew over the typewriter. He had no idea what case Adam was discussing, but it was clear that he was frustrated. The details were flying, and to Tommy, they all sounded disconnected, he couldn't imagine what they could possibly have to do with one another. He strained to keep listening after Adam walked down the hall towards his office, but soon Adam's voice was muffled, and all Tommy could hear was the click-clack of his typewriter. He finished the letter, giving it a quick glance and catching a typo near the end. He reached for the bottle of White-Out, the acrid smell filling his nostrils before he thought better of it. He grinned to himself and closed the bottle, carrying the letter into Adam's office, keeping a hint of that smirk around the edges of his mouth.

“Maybe you didn't squeeze it hard enough.” Adam was still on the phone, and Tommy slid the letter across the desk to him, waiting.

“There's always concern about it bursting.” Adam just signed the letter, didn't even read it before thrusting it back in Tommy's direction, shaking it when Tommy hesitated. Tommy took the letter and folded it carefully, stuffing it into an envelope and licking the flap slowly, suggestively, making sure Adam was watching.

Adam's eyes narrowed briefly, but then he cupped a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and spoke softly, but firmly. “I have to work.”

Tommy huffed and sealed the letter, just catching Adam's next sentence as he stepped through the door. “I'm sorry, the office has been...overwhelmed.” He sat down heavily at his desk, slapping the letter down.

The hands on the clock seemed to stand still the rest of the day, except when the ticking was burrowing its way into Tommy's brain. Tommy watched as the hands ticked over to 5, and he started gathering his things, dawdling in hopes that Adam would come out of his office. When he didn't, Tommy shouted down the hallway, trying to make his voice sound casual, but still keep the real meaning of his words clear.

“Mr. Lambert? I'm going to go home, but if you need any more help tonight, I could come back later.”

There was a pause, almost long enough that Tommy wondered if Adam had heard him. “Thank you, Mr Ratliff, good night.” Another pause, this one filled with paper shuffling and the sound Tommy thought was Adam's pencil holder crashing to the floor. “That will be all.”

Tommy swore under his breath and stormed out the door. He was frustrated, and he nearly ran three red lights on the way home. His roommate was practising guitar in his room and it sounded like the amp was turned all the way up from the way Tommy's walls were vibrating. He played the same riff over and over again, the opening bars of _Smoke on the Water_ , Tommy chewing his lips until they were raw and bloody. When the phone rang, Tommy had to plug his ear and nearly scream into it just to hear his mother telling him about bills he didn't have the money to pay and some distant relative who was in the hospital that he should really visit. By the time he hung up, his skin was crawling and his heart was thumping in his chest, his fingernails digging into his palms hard enough to leave red crescents in his skin. He felt hot, and he almost dug through his drawers for his little bag before he remembered he didn't have it anymore. He was halfway to the kitchen to find a knife or a pair of scissors when he saw his car keys, and he grabbed them, running on auto-pilot until he pulled into Adam's driveway.

Tommy wasn't even sure how he got there; he honestly couldn't remember ever learning Adam's address, but the shiny black car in the driveway showed him he had the right house. Nothing but pure instinct carried him to the front door, and through the small window to the side, Tommy could see Adam sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of an old record player, a stack of well-worn vinyl next to him. Tommy watched for a few long seconds, watching Adam's long fingers slide the records from their sleeves and drop them down onto the player, lifting the needle and setting it down gently in the grooves. Through the thick wooden door Tommy could hear David Bowie's voice, and he smiled at the way Adam's head tipped back, his eyes shut like he was just absorbing the music. Tommy could already feel the knot in his chest loosening as he lifted his hand to knock on the door, but he had to fight the urge to turn and bolt back to the car when he watched Adam lift his head and start towards the door.

“Tommy? Hi.” Adam leaned against the door frame, and Tommy's mouth went dry, whatever he was planning to saying evaporating out of his head.

“Tommy? Are you okay?” Adam started to step through the door, reaching out a hand like he was going to rest it on Tommy's arm, but he stopped halfway.

“I just wanted...I needed you...wanted you to...” Tommy stammered and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, running his tongue over his torn up lips.

“Need me to what?” Adam's voice dropped, gone deep in a way that made Tommy shiver.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget to bring home the papers about the Rodriguez case. You have a meeting with their lawyer tomorrow.” Tommy's voice wavered and he dropped his eyes to the floor, focusing on the toes of his shoes.

“No, I didn't forget.”

“That's good.”

“Thank you, Tommy.” Adam's tone was clipped, and to Tommy it felt like a slap on the face. He stepped back and shut the door softly in Tommy's face, and Tommy wrapped his arms around himself and hurried back to his car, fighting against the tears that were pricking the back of his eyelids.

After that night when he shut the door in Tommy's face, Adam just stopped doing _it_. Tommy saw the pile of red pens in the garbage can, and Adam pulled back so far he rarely came out of his office to talk to Tommy anymore. Tommy dumped out every bottle of White-Out he had at his desk and started making typos on purpose, baiting Adam, but it didn't work. Adam was treating Tommy like a regular secretary, and Tommy was starting to wonder if that was really all he was. Tommy tried everything he could think of to draw Adam back out. He would bend over the desk when delivering Adam's coffee, placing his palms flat on the cool wood like he knew Adam liked. Adam just looked at him, his face controlled and passive and he held out a stack of folders, telling Tommy they needed to be filed. He tried humour, but every attempt at lightness was brushed off, Adam's demeanour now cold and unfamiliar. Tommy was frustrated, more frustrated than he could ever remember being, and he could feel the break coming.

It came one morning while he was walking to his car, the grass of his lawn damp with dew in the cool air. He saw a large earthworm squirming through the blades, and before he could really think it through he bent down to pick it up, turning back into the house to slip it into a plastic bag and tuck it into his pocket. He had more than enough time alone now that Adam was avoiding him, though he still look up to make sure the room was empty before pulling the little baggie out of his pocket. He laid the worm gently on a piece of paper, folded it and slid it into an envelope addressed to Adam. He picked the letter up to seal the flap and saw Adam's shadow in the hallway, realizing he was being watched. Tommy made a bit of a show of sealing the letter, his heart skip-hopping at the thought of what would happen when Adam received the letter.

Tommy's intercom buzzed a few days later, and he swore he could hear a quaver in Adam's voice. “Mr. Ratliff?”

“Yes, Mr. Lambert?”

“Come into my office.”

“But Ms. Nolan is waiting.”

“Mr. Ratliff. Come into my office.”

There was a definite quaver on the last words, and Tommy felt his blood zinging through his veins as he murmured to himself. “Finally.” He could feel Ms. Nolan's eyes on his back as he walked down the hall, but instead of hurrying or blushing, Tommy turned back and gave her a broad, obvious smile, relishing in the shocked look on her face. A familiar flutter settled into Tommy's belly when he stepped into Adam's office, and he didn't have to be told to bend over with his face close to the desk. There was a piece of paper on the desk, the worm Tommy had mailed stretched across it, heavily circled in red marker. Tommy's mouth went dry as Adam stood and walked around the desk, becoming a warm and familiar presence behind him.

“Pull your pants down.”

“What?”

“Are you worried I'm going to fuck you? I won't, I'm not interested in that. Now, pull down your pants.”

Tommy's fingers fumbled with his belt, his hands shaking as they pushed his pants down over his ass to pool around his knees.

“Now your underwear.”

Tommy hesitated, and he could hear the slight edge in Adam's voice.

“I told you I'm not going to fuck you.”

Finally, Tommy obeyed, pushing his underwear down and resting his palms back on the desk. He felt the heat of Adam's hand as it got close to his ass, and his braced himself for the sharper sting of flesh on flesh, but it never came. Instead, he heard the soft snick of a zipper, and then Adam's breathing grew ragged, soft hitches that made it obvious what he was doing. Tommy's dick was hard between his legs and he had to fight hard against the urge to rut against the desk, or turn around and get on his knees, begging Adam to put his dick in his mouth.

Tommy startled when Adam came, a strangled cry accompanied by a hot splash on Tommy's ass, dripping down into the cleft and over his balls. He heard Adam's breathing slow, heard him zipping up and rearranging his clothes, and then Adam was moving around the desk, taking his seat across from Tommy. They stared at each other for a few long moments, and then Adam reached over and grabbed a pile of folders, handing them across the desk to Tommy.

“Fill out these forms, and then you can go pick up lunch. Bring me my sandwich in here, and you'll have the usual. No mayonnaise this time.”

Tommy stood, dragging his underwear and pants up over sticky skin, his own dick still hard as he pulled his zipper up over it. He knew he must look as dumbfounded as he felt, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he reached forward to take the folder.

“Oh, and send in what's-her-name.” Adam waved his hand casually, and Tommy just nodded. He couldn't think of a single thing to say as he walked out of the office, Adam's come still sliding between his ass cheeks and dripping down his thighs. He sent Ms. Nolan into Adam's office, this time dropping his eyes to the floor when she glared at him, and hurried into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, turning to see the wet stain spreading on the back of his pants and wincing. He leaned heavily against the wall and shoved his hand into his pants and wrapped it hard around his dick. It was too much and it _hurt_ , but Tommy didn't let up. When he came it was with a groan, his own come joining the already drying mess in his pants. He cleaned up the worst of it, swiping a finger through the mess on his ass, bringing it to his mouth. His tongue lapped out to just taste it, the bitter-salt of Adam's come filling his mouth. Tommy let his eyes flutter shut, and took a deep breath, burning the scent of Adam into his brain before washing his hands and heading out to pick up lunch, no mayonnaise this time.

“Mr. Ratliff?” Tommy's intercom buzzed right as he was walking back into the building, balancing a tray of drinks and a bag of sandwiches as he pushed open the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Come into my office and bring your typing scores.”

Tommy set the sandwiches down on his desk and rummaged through his drawers before coming up with the crumpled piece of paper that had his typing scores on it. He looked at it, remembering the first day he'd walked through the doors with this piece of paper dripping wet onto Adam's desk. He straightened up, and looked around the office for first time since he'd walked through the door. There were folders scattered all down the hallway, folders that Tommy remembered filing, the coloured tabs on their edges evidence of the system Tommy had created. He walked slowly down the hall, and even slower into Adam's room, his heart suddenly up somewhere near his chin.

“What happened?” His voice was soft and tentative as he asked the question, but Adam didn't even acknowledge it.

“Are you single?”

Tommy paused before answering, more than a little bewildered. “Yes?”

“Do you live with your parents?”

“No.”

Tommy recognized each of these questions from the day he'd been interviewed, and it was like he'd been transported back there. He shifted back and forth on his feet, and twisted his fingers together in front of him, his nerves jangling.

“Do you live alone?”

“You know where I live.”

“Are those your scores?” Adam reached a hand out, and Tommy thrust the paper forward, even more crumpled than it had been when he'd pulled it out of the drawer.

“Do you really want to be my secretary?”

“Yeah, yes. I really do.” Tommy hated the desperation in his voice, but he thought he could see where this was going, and he wanted so much to be wrong.

“It's not just about typing and paperclips, is it, Tommy?” Adam's voice sounded wistful, almost sad, and Tommy's fingers itched with the desire to reach out and stroke his cheek.

“No.” Tommy was strong now, he straightened his shoulders and stepped forward, his body pressing up against Adam's desk.

“I'm sorry, Tommy, but I don't think I'm going to offer you the job.”

“What?” Tommy was taken aback, and he felt like he'd been struck.

“You can collect your things.”

Tommy felt the blood rise up in his chest, felt his face flush and he leaned over the desk and got as close to Adam's face as he could. “Time out!”

Adam stood, and Tommy was reminded of the size difference so suddenly that he nearly stumbled. “Time out? You're fired!”

“I'm fired? What did I do wrong?” Tommy was nearly shouting now, looking up at Adam as he stalked around the large desk to stand mere inches from Tommy.

Adam held a hand up, like he was ticking off just a few of the hundreds of things Tommy did wrong every day, and Tommy felt his anger rise with every one. “You bring your iPod to work. Sometimes when I walk past your desk I can hear that heavy metal coming out of your headphones. You string all the paperclips together, and whenever I go to get one, I get hundreds.”

Tommy was stunned into silence. There was no way he was really being fired over paperclip chains, and the defeated way Adam sank into the armchair across from his desk made Tommy's rage subside.

“You have to go, or I won't stop.” Adam's voice was small and soft, and the sound of it made tears prick behind Tommy's eyes.

“So, don't stop.” Tommy walked over to Adam, and after a moment's hesitation, reached out and ran his fingers softly through Adam's hair and down over his cheek.

“I can't do this anymore.”

“But I want you to. I want to know you.” Tommy squeezed Adam's shoulder softly, the tear slipping out and rolling hotly down his cheeks.

“I am so sorry for what happened. I've made a horrible mistake, and I hope you understand.” Adam reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and handed Tommy a slim envelope. “Now, you have to go.”

“What? What are you...”

“Get out.” Adam wasn't yelling, but his voice was strong and firm, and Tommy just left. He stuffed his few belongings into his bag and hurried out the door, managing to make it to the car before he completely broke down. Big, heaving sobs wracked his body and he just let the tears fall, spreading across the grey wool of his pants. He cried for what felt like hours, until his chest stopped heaving and the tears dried up, and he finally ran a shaking finger under the flap of the envelope, pulling out a cheque for nearly $700. He had no idea what Adam owed him, and he didn't care. He wanted to tear the cheque up, wanted to toss it into a puddle, but he didn't. Instead, he slid it into the glove compartment of his car, the sound of the latch echoing through the small space when he shut it.

The next morning, and every morning after that, Tommy got up and got ready for work like usual. He didn't tell anyone what had happened, he just pretended to go to work, instead watching Adam's office from across the street. He sat in his car and watched as Adam hired a new secretary, another small blonde boy, and he watched as the locksmith pulled up outside and changed the locks. There was nothing Tommy could do about it, and he felt helpless and more than a little lost.

He tried to get out and meet new people, going to bars with his friends and even venturing out on his own to some of the more private clubs in town that catered to what he thought he wanted. After one too many large hairy men called him “pretty boy” or tried to hit him with a rubber chicken, he stopped trying. He sat at home night after night, drumming out bass-lines on his thigh and listening as his roommate practised for an audition, a major one from the few snatches of conversation Tommy had actually paid attention to. Tommy's world collapsed in on itself the night that his roommate came flying through the door, a huge smile on his face and a giant bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“I got it! I fucking got it!” He whooped, waving the whiskey around before cracking the seal and taking a huge swig. “I'm going on a fucking world tour, can you believe that?” Tommy stared in silence as he felt the bile rise up in his throat, and then he was on his feet, keys in hand as he ran for the door. He heard his roommate calling for him, the voice confused and distant, but he didn't stop. He didn't stop until he was in the parking lot of Adam's office, and then his feet carried him through the lobby, past his old desk and the new boy behind it, and into Adam's office, where Adam stood watering a plant Tommy had never seen before.

“I have something to say to you.” He was out of breath, but he knew if he stopped he'd never get the words out. Tommy held up a hand to stop Adam from interjecting, and he was surprised when Adam actually listened. “I love you.”

“Tommy, why are you here? You shouldn't be here.”

“I'm in love with you.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't believe you.”

“It's true, I love you.”

Adam shook his head, the look on his face something Tommy might call regret. “I thought that this was over when you cancelled your severance cheque.”

“Would you listen to me? I love you. I love you!”

“Tommy, we can't do this 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.”

Tommy straightened his spine, looking Adam right in the eyes, his tone defiant. “Why not?”

He watched as something in Adam changed, watched as his eyes went darker, narrower and the line of his lips thinned out. “Sit in my chair, and put your palms flat on the desk.”

Tommy obeyed easily, like he always did. “I want everything. I want you to fuck me, and I want you to kiss me. Everything.”

“Keep your feet flat on the floor until I come back.” Adam picked up his coat, and then he was gone, the loss of his presence suddenly making the room feel huge and empty. Tommy didn't move though, not an inch, and his resolved only strengthened as he watched the minutes tick by on the large clock opposite Adam's desk.

Tommy heard the door open, and he looked up eagerly, expecting to see Adam. He was disappointed to see his roommate instead, peeking around the corner of the door like he didn't know what he was going to find.

“Your um...your boss called me. Said you were here.” He stepped slowly into the room, stopping a healthy distance from the desk.

“Yep, I'm here.” Tommy dug his fingers into the surface of Adam's desk, holding on.

“So...why are you here? Is he making you do this?”

“No. I want to do this.”

“Is it...like, some sex thing?”

Tommy rolled his eyes at the way his roommate’s voice dropped when he said it, like he was afraid someone might overhear them. “Does this look like a sex thing?”

“I don't know, Tommy! All I know is that ever since you've been working here...you're different, dude. Why don't you just come home and we'll go out and get you a hot chick or something.”

“Because I don't want to come home. And I don't want a hot chick. I want to be here, doing this. Now, get out.” Tommy shot him a look, and from the way his roommate withered, it was as scathing as he'd hoped. The door to the office shut softly again, and Tommy went back to watching the clock, the ticking of the second hand echoing through the empty room.

His roommate wasn't the last visitor Tommy had, not even close. From what he understood, somehow his story had made it to the news, and people he'd never even met before were coming into the office to tell him he was brave or going to Hell or an inspiration or sick. He didn't listen to most of them, just stared over their shoulders to keep his eyes on the ticking of the clock. The first person he listened to was the one he was the most surprised to see, the small man that had sneered at him so many months ago after demanding to see Adam.

“Mr. Bell?” Tommy's voice sounded rough even to his own ears, and he realized it had been more than a day since he spoke.

“Oh, you can call me Brad, honey. You've really impressed me.” Brad's smile was wide and easy, and Tommy didn't hear even a suggestion of sarcasm.

“Impressed you? How?”

“Three years ago, I was in your position. I mean, not exactly, but I was with Adam and well...let's just say, I didn't have your strength. I couldn't handle it.” He sounded wistful, regretful, and his smile looked just a little sad.

“You think I'm strong?” Tommy's arms and legs were starting to cramp painfully, but he refused to so much as fidget.

“You are strong. Adam is one of the most amazing men I have ever known, but he's a lot to handle, and so am I.” Tommy saw the little sparkle in Brad's eye then, and he let himself return the smile. “I wanted it to work, wanted to be what he needed, but I couldn't do it. I'm too -” Brad waved his hands around animatedly, but he didn't need to finish the sentence for Tommy to understand what he meant.

Tommy smiled wider, and looked Brad right in the eye. “Thank you.”

“You'll be good for him, I can tell. He'll be back for you, once he realizes how good you are.” Brad reached across the desk and laid his hand over top of Tommy's, squeezing it before standing. “Oh, and when you get out of here, give me a call. I bet you'll be fun to take out.” Brad winked exaggeratedly at Tommy and walked out of the office with a little more wiggle than was probably necessary. Tommy watched him go, the smile not leaving his lips as he ran over Brad's words in his head.

“I could be so good for you, if you'd let me. So good.” Tommy murmured the words softly to himself as he laid his head down on the desk, drifting in and out of sleep until he was woken up by a sharp knock at the door.

“Mr. Ratliff? Can I have a few minutes of your time?” The voice was bright and sunny, and Tommy recognized it as belonging to a young anchor from the local news. When he didn't say no, she stepped into the room, waving her cameraman in behind her.

“Hi there, I'm Vanessa Campbell from Channel 4.” She stuck her hand out, and almost immediately flushed, pulling it back. “Oops! Guess you don't want to shake my hand, right?” Tommy just stared up at her, silently waiting for her to get to the point.

“Okay, do you mind if we start rolling?” When Tommy didn't respond, she waved over the cameraman, and immediately fell into anchor-mode.

“I'm here today with Tommy Ratliff, who has been sitting here at this desk for four days, waiting for the man he is in love with to come back for him. He hasn't had anything to to eat or drink in all this time, and people are beginning to wonder, just how far is he willing to go? Tommy, if Mr. Lambert is watching this broadcast today, what would you like to say to him?” The microphone was thrust into Tommy's face, and Tommy blinked into the light of the camera for a few seconds, his tongue darting out to moisten his cracked lips.

“Yeah, I want to tell him that I'm not scared. I've been scared most of my life, but I'm just...not anymore, because of him. And I know that he's scared, but he doesn't have to be. I want to love him, to play with him, to know him.” Tommy swallowed heavily, taking a deep breath. “With him, I feel more right than I ever have before, and I want to help him feel that way too. I love him.”

“Thank you, Tommy. That was beautiful.” Vanessa turned to face the camera, her face carefully solemn. “There you have it. A heartfelt plea, from someone who just wants love. Will the man he loves see his message and come for him? What will happen if he doesn't? Stay tuned to for developments in this hauntingly romantic story. This has been Vanessa Campbell for Channel 4 news.” She turned to Tommy, a sad smile on her face now that the anchor-control was gone. “I hope he comes back soon. This will air tonight, on the 6 o'clock news, if he sees it...he'll be here.”

Tommy smiled back at her wanly, and let his head fall back to the desk before the door was even shut behind her. He felt so weak, his stomach rumbling feebly, as if it had given up on getting food. His mouth was impossibly dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth when he tried to swallow. It would be so easy to get out of this chair and walk over to the fridge in the small kitchen; Tommy could almost taste the water he knew was there, could feel the cool liquid sliding down his throat. He didn't move though; he dug his fingers harder into the surface of the desk, steeling his resolve. He let his eyes flutter shut, but he didn't sleep. He was so far past exhausted that sleep seemed impossible, and he didn't even notice when the light dimmed in the room, the sun falling below the horizon. He didn't look up when the door opened this time, not even when he heard gasping and muttering from the crowd that had been gathered for days just outside the door. He didn't open his eyes when he felt a soft hand stroke his hair, didn't open them until he heard Adam's voice whispering to him softly.

“Tommy, look at me.” Adam's hair was ruffled, his shirt buttoned all wrong, and his eyes were red, like he'd been crying. “Drink this.” He put a straw between Tommy's lips and Tommy drank gratefully, a smoothie or a protein shake or something coating his throat and moistening his lips.

“You came back.” Tommy lifted his head just enough to rub his cheek against Adam's hand, sighing at the gentle way Adam's fingers traced over his cheekbone and down to his lips.

“Of course I did. I saw you on the news tonight, you were amazing. You've been so good, Tommy, so good. Do you want to come home with me?” Adam slid his hand down Tommy's back, rubbing soothing circles at the base of his spine.

“Yeah, I'd like that.” Tommy smiled, a wide, bright smile despite his exhaustion and let Adam gather him in his arms and lift him from the chair. He buried his face in Adam's chest, breathing in the smell of him, ignoring the shouts and camera flashes around them as Adam carried him through the crowds to his car. Tommy snuggled down into the soft leather of the passenger seat, reaching one hand across the centre console to tangle with Adam's, not wanting to let him go, even for a second.

The ride to Adam's house was short and silent, and they stayed quiet as Adam carried Tommy into the house and drew him a bath. Adam's tub was huge, and Tommy sank gratefully into the warm water, the bubbles coming up nearly to his chin. He let Adam wash him, Adam's strong hands lifting his legs and then his arms, rubbing a soft washcloth over his skin until Tommy felt pink and new. He sighed as Adam's fingers worked shampoo into his scalp, pressing back to get Adam to dig in harder, to scrape his nails over the skin. Tommy didn't want to get out of the warm, soothing water, but he took Adam's hand anyway and let himself be lead into Adam's bedroom and onto his bed, the comforter white and fluffy and so soft Tommy couldn't help but squirm down into it.

Adam crawled onto the bed next to him, still fully dressed as his eyes roved over Tommy's nude form. His fingers followed the path his eyes started, playing over the tattoos on Tommy's left arm, walking across his collarbone and down his other arm, pausing when his fingers traced over the scars there. His touch was light and gentle, and he didn't say anything, but Tommy just started talking. He told Adam where the first scar was from, about the first time he was told he'd never make it as a musician, about the day he started carrying his kit with him all the time. He told Adam things he'd never told anyone else, about the horrible things people said to him the first day he wore eyeliner in high school, the time he cut too deep but didn't go to the hospital, because he didn't want anyone to know. Adam didn't judge him, didn't pity him, he just stroked his fingers over each of his scars as Tommy told their stories, and Tommy felt healed.

They talked until they fell asleep, sharing stories, both sad and happy until the sky was beginning to lighten again. When Tommy woke up, it was midday, and Adam was lying next to him, watching him with a soft smile on his face.

“Morning. How are you feeling?” Adam rested his hand on Tommy's chest, not moving it, just leaving it there as a comforting weight.

“Amazing. Perfect.” Tommy meant it, and even those words weren't enough to describe it. He reached a hand out to stroke Adam's cheek, letting his fingers drop to circle Adam's mouth, his heart pounding when Adam sighed deeply, his mouth falling open. “Can I...can I kiss you?”

“Oh god, of course.” Adam bent and met Tommy halfway, and the kiss was everything Tommy had waited for, soft and hard in all the right places, teeth and tongue and pressure deepening quickly to just this side of too hard. Adam pushed the blankets away until Tommy's body was exposed again, his hand stroking down Tommy's chest, his sides, his thighs, everywhere but where Tommy wanted it right now. “Tell me what you want, Tommy. We can do everything, as long as you can ask for it.” His breath was hot against Tommy's mouth, and Tommy darted his tongue out like he could taste it.

Tommy's head was spinning with images of everything he wanted to do with Adam, Adam's hands everywhere, inside him, marking him. He wanted Adam to spank him again, he wanted Adam to tie him up, to whip him, to pull his hair and force him to his knees. He wanted all of that and more, but today he only wanted one thing. “I want you to fuck me, please.” His voice already sounded thin and needy, and his fingers gripped tight to Adam's wrist when he started to stand up.

Adam bent to him, brushing a soft kiss over his lips. “Hang on baby, I'll be right back.” True to his word, Adam was only gone for moments, and then he was pressing slick fingers into Tommy's hole, stretching him just this side of too fast.

Tommy panted, the slight burn of the stretch making his eyes prick with tears and his cock grow hard against his belly. Adam twisted his fingers, making Tommy's spine arch of the bed when he brushed against that spot inside him. Tommy reached down to grab Adam's wrist, stilling his movements until Adam looked up and caught his eye.

“Please, now. Fuck me now.”

The sound that Adam made sounded like a growl, deep and low in the back of his throat, and he pulled his fingers roughly from Tommy's ass, dragging them up over his cock, swirling through the pool of pre-come dripping onto Tommy's belly. Tommy watched as Adam slicked up his cock, the latex-covered head looking big and gorgeous when he slid through Adam's fist. Tommy's mouth was nearly watering as he added getting that cock down his throat to the list of things he wanted to do with Adam, but when he felt the heat of Adam's cock against his hole, his brain went empty. Adam pushed in firmly, not fast, but definitely not slow enough for Tommy to adjust. Tommy let his legs fall as wide open as they could and breathed deeply, lifting his hands to dig his nails deep into Adam's shoulder blades.

When Adam was finally all the way in, Tommy let out a breath that felt like he'd been holding for months, and then Adam started moving. He fucked Tommy hard and deep, making sure he felt every inch and every thrust all the way to the tips of his toes. Tommy wrapped his legs tight around Adam's waist and held him close, pulling him deeper until Tommy couldn't remember what it felt like to be empty.

“Are you going to come for me, Tommy? Going to come on my cock?” Adam's voice was shaky, and Tommy could see the sweat running down his chest, see the way the muscles in his arms were cording. He tried to answer, but all that came out of his mouth was a reedy moan, his throat still sounding rough and underused.

“Come for me, Tommy. Show me how good you are.” Tommy's body arched at Adam's words, his orgasm hitting like Adam had flipped a switch. Adam's name fell from his lips in a litany, and his come splattered hot over his belly, spreading between them when Adam leaned down to kiss him sloppily, his thrusts getting shorter and sharper as his own orgasm overtook him. Tommy panted into Adam's mouth, holding him close even when Adam tried to roll off of him. He wasn't ready for this moment to be over just yet, and he ran his hands greedily over Adam's body, memorizing each curve and angle until he could see Adam's shape clearly in his brain.

They spent the rest of that day in bed, showering together when they were too sweaty and sticky, with Adam putting on a robe only to answer the door to pick up dinner. Tommy waited as Adam carefully dished out his food, and then curled against Adam's side on the plush sofa in Adam's living room. They ate together slowly and quietly, one of Adam's hands resting possessively on Tommy's thigh as the familiar strains of David Bowie filled the room. When the record ended, and silent filled the room again, Adam pulled a little box out of his pocket and slipped a thick, silver ring onto Tommy's finger, the metal cool and heavy. Tommy spun it around, sliding it off just long enough to read the simple words engraved on the inside; _I'm your man_. He slipped the ring back on and wrapped his arms around Adam's neck, dragging him down to kiss him, deep and long.

After that, their lives settled into a rhythm that, to anyone looking in, would look like that of any other couple. Tommy went to work with Adam every day, taking back his old job as Adam's secretary. He enjoyed the looks he got perching on the edge of his chair in the pencil skirt and heels Adam had bought him, and enjoyed the looks even more on the days when Adams clasped a collar around his neck or a thick leather cuff around his wrist. He only got to wear the special restraint on days when no one was due to visit the office, but every day, Adam made sure everyone knew who Tommy belonged to. If things ever got a bit too calm, a bit too easy, Tommy let his finger slip on the typewriter, a smirk pulling up the corners of his mouth as he handed the letter to Adam, waiting for the buzz of his intercom that was like the bell to Pavlov's dogs.

When they got home, most nights after dinner Tommy would pull out the guitar that Adam had surprised him with, playing familiar songs for Adam to sing along with, or new melodies that gave Adam the space to experiment, to let his voice rise and fall with the music. Every night they played together, they ended with the same song, the one that Tommy wore wrapped around his finger every day. Adam's voice dropped to meet the lowest notes, and he pulled the guitar from Tommy's hands, singing the final lines without music as he pushed Tommy to his knees, a hand curled tightly in Tommy's hair. Tommy hummed along as he took Adam's cock into his mouth, drumming out the melody on Adam's hip. He had everything he'd ever wanted.

 _If you want a lover  
I'll do anything you ask me to  
And if you want another kind of love  
I'll wear a mask for you  
If you want a partner  
Take my hand  
Or if you want to strike me down in anger  
Here I stand  
I'm your man_


End file.
